


I Love You (Never Felt Like Any Blessing)

by MaximumMarygold



Series: 0139 - Suicide Is Painless [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Military AU, Puppy Isaac, The MASH AU That No One Asked For, Um a lil bit of blood but really its just mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximumMarygold/pseuds/MaximumMarygold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn’t realize how bad it was going to be. But then, Stiles didn’t realize a lot of things when it came to Colonel Derek Hale.<br/>Like how someone with a frown that serious could have a smile so great. Or how eyes that had seen such horrible things could be so warm looking down at him at three in the morning after sixteen hours in surgery. Or how absolutely fucked he would be the second Derek laughed at one of his stupid jokes.<br/>Or how close to a panic attack he would be when he realized the person on the gurney gushing blood out of their chest was Derek and not some random soldier. Derek. Bleeding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You (Never Felt Like Any Blessing)

Sharing a tent with Jackson Whittemore was nothing short of an absolute adventure, since he was an arrogant snob and Stiles and Scott were two peas from very middle class, very sarcastic pods.

But even Jackson shut the fuck up when Stiles wrote home to his dad.

Or, in this case, spoke home to his dad.

"Dad," Stiles was reclined across his shitty, regulation mattress, his head hanging off the end that was meant to house his feet -not that you could really tell, both ends were of equal degree of uncomfortable - speaking into the microphone of some 1940’s recording device, "I know it’s been a while since you’ve been privileged to hear the dulcet sounds of me babbling into your ear." To the left, Scott snorted, "But some French soldier gave this device to Derek, who in turn gave it to Mr. Argent, who gave it to Allison, who then gave it to me. Probably so I’d have something to talk to besides thin air."

"And me." Scott piped up.

"And Scott." Stiles amended. "My good ole' manservant Scott who is, as we speak, fixing me a martini." Stiles grinned over at his best friend, "What’s the ratio? Three to one?"

"Five to one, actually." Scott replied in the worst English accent Stiles had ever heard, “Four of Gin and a moment of sad, sad silence for the other thing that’s supposed to go in a martini.”

"The olive?" Stiles asked. "I’m pretty sure we can scrounge some up in the mess tent if we give Greenburg ten bucks."

“Vermouth, you idiots.” Jackson grumbled from underneath his blankets.

"That’s it!" Scott held up a finger, accent breaking for a moment before he reigned it back in, "Four parts gin and one sad, sad moment of silence for the vermouth."

Stiles cackled. Sirens went off. All three of them sighed. “Okay, dad, we’re gonna have to put this conversation on hold. I have about seventy million human jigsaw puzzles to put together and another hundred thousand games of Operation to play.”

Stiles dropped the microphone and paused the recording as Isaac’s voice echoed throughout the camp.

"Incoming wounded, all medical personnel report to triage, on the double! Doctors Stilinski and McCall to pre-op!"

Stiles and Scott shared a look, “Straight to pre-op?”

NOTHING good ever came from being called straight to pre-op.

Stiles didn’t realize how bad it was going to be, though. But then, Stiles didn’t realize a lot of things when it came to Colonel Derek Hale.

Like how someone with a frown that serious could have a smile so great. Or how eyes that had seen such horrible things could be so warm looking down at him at three in the morning after sixteen hours in surgery. Or how absolutely fucked he would be the second Derek laughed at one of his stupid jokes.

Or how close to a panic attack he would be when he realized the person on the gurney gushing blood out of their chest was Derek and not some random soldier. Derek. Bleeding.

"What happened?" Scott demanded, shooting worried glances at Stiles out of the corner of his eye. As one of the only people who knew Stiles was engaged in definitely non-regulation activities with their CO he looked ready to catch Stiles should his legs give out. Which wasn’t really a radical fear. Stiles’ knees were definitely a little wobbly.

From the gurney, Derek groaned. “Scott?”

"And Stiles." Scott took a step closer, "Derek what did you do?"

"Snipers." Derek turned his head, eyes searching for Stiles. They were hazy, unfocused, and Stiles had to stride past Scott and right into Derek’s space for those eyes to finally settle on him. "They were shooting at Isaac."

Stiles winced; Isaac Lahey was the baby of the outfit. Barely eighteen when he was drafted. “You couldn’t just shove him out of the way, you self sacrificing asshole?” Stiles had to work very hard to keep the panic out of his voice as his fingers thread through Derek’s, “You just had to play the hero?”

Derek’s lips twitched into a weak smile, “‘s why you like me so much.”

"You’re delusional. I like your inability to laugh in public more than I like this habit." Stiles pried the towel away from Derek’s chest. "God, we gotta get you patched up. That could have hit a lung." The more he listened to Derek’s breathing the less he liked it.

Derek shook his head, though, “Not you. You… you go help with triage. I don’t want you in the O.R.”

“Colonel!” Stiles protested, “I am the best surgeon you got. You can’t bench your MVP before the championship game!”

"I can," Derek gasped, breathing getting shoddier by the second, "and I am."

"Derek!" Stiles tried again but he was out and someone was pulling on his arm.

"Stiles," Scott hissed in his ear, "Stiles you have to go. He’s right, you’re not allowed to operate on loved ones in the real world."

"This isn’t the real world!" Stiles shot back, eyes never leaving Derek’s face as Lydia and Allison wheeled him into the O.R.

"I’ll take care of him." Scott promised instead of arguing, "Okay?" His hand was warm and reassuring on Stiles’ wrist, "I’ll take care of him."

Stiles wanted to argue, but the longer he kept Scott out here the less time they had to save Derek, so he bit his tongue and nodded. They were finally alone, just Scott and Stiles, best friends who had been drafted together and landed in the same unit, so Stiles let his voice crack, “Save him.” He pleaded, “I need him, Scott. I can’t survive this place without him.”

Scott nodded, pulling his best friend into a quick hug. “I know.” And then he was gone and Stiles was standing in pre-op alone, hand still outstretched for… what?

He didn’t go to triage; he wasn’t in the right mindset for triage. In his head no one was of more importance than Derek. He wouldn’t make sound decisions and honestly he would probably kill someone. So he went to the tent that served as Derek’s office. It smelled more like Derek than like the dank Amy tent it was - and Stiles knew where Derek hid the good hooch.

Isaac was there, pale faced and dirty, and he stood to attention when Stiles ducked through the door. He didn’t need Jackson seeing him and questioning why he wasn’t working.

"Stiles!" Isaac gasped out, "I mean Captain Stilinski." He fidgeted uncomfortably like a scolded puppy though Stiles hadn’t said anything to him yet, "Colonel Hale, is he…?"

"He’s in surgery." Stiles said stiffly, swallowing harshly against the bile rising in his throat. "He also banned me from the O.R."

"Because he’s in love with you." Isaac replied like it was nothing. Stiles almost fell over.

Jesus, he was going to die of a heart attack before the day was over.

"I…" Stiles stopped and shook his head, "I need a drink." Was what he said instead of the obviously false, rehearsed denial he was going to spew at Isaac. "Have one with me." He didn’t phrase it as a question and Isaac didn’t protest.

"I didn’t see the sniper." Isaac confessed after wincing through three sips of Derek’s good whiskey, "Not until he was shooting and then the Colonel was there and bleeding and… it all happened so fast, Stiles." He was shrinking in on himself, trying to be as small as possible in case Stiles was mad at him and Stiles swore then and there that if he ever met Mr. Lahey he was going to punch him in his goddamn nose.

"I know." Stiles said simply, reaching out and clasping Isaac’s shoulder. "Derek cares about you. I care about you. Literally everyone in this outfit thinks of you as their kid brother and would take a bullet for you just like Derek did because we know you would do the same thing for us." Isaac nodded quickly, eyes wide and a little awed, "No one blames you for what happened today, least of all Derek or I. So wipe that puppy faced look away, soldier. This is the Army!

Isaac let out a surprised laugh, ducking his head and providing Stiles with a prime opportunity to ruffle his loose golden curls. 

"You need a shower." Stiles grimaced as he pulled his hand back, "You’re a walking sandbox."

Isaac cringed, “Derek tackled me to the ground.” He admitted, looking at the dirt gathered under his fingernails, “I’m so… over everything I didn’t even think about how filthy I must be.”

"Well you’re dirtier than one of those magazines Jackson has stuffed under his cot." That was a lie,about Jackson having a stash of porn, but it was worth it for how large Isaac’s eyes got.

"Come on." Stiles grinned, "I’ll walk you to the showers. I need to hide Derek’s booze in the Swamp anyways."

"You’re really gonna take the whole bottle?" Isaac asked as Stiles wrapped his fingers around the neck.

"It’ll stop him from avoiding me for a week." Stiles shrugged a shoulder, "Which is what always ends up happening when we need to talk about feelings."

Isaac nodded sagely. “The colonel isn’t very good at that.”

"No, he is not." Stiles agreed, before pausing for a moment and considering Isaac. Then, he shrugged and pulled him into a tight hug. "You did good, kid." He said lowly, because Isaac was the one who would have had to pull himself together and go get help. Isaac: baby faced, eighteen year old Isaac who had never been trained for combat, had to pull himself up off the ground while under fire and his C.O, his  _friend_ , was bleeding from his chest, and get Derek out of range of the bullets and then find him help before he bled out.

Isaac froze up for a moment, and for that single, terrifying moment Stiles was worried he’d done the wrong thing, but then Isaac huffed out a heavy breath and let Stiles take his weight. “Thanks.” 

Stiles smiled, small, and slightly tipsy from the glass and a half of whiskey he’d shot back while Isaac was trying to get through a couple sips, and pressed his cheek to the top of Isaac’s head. He didn’t say anything else, just held the kid until it was his idea to pull away. 

He looked better, just from the hug. There was more color in his face and his expression wasn’t quite so traumatized. Stiles considered it a job well done; he was a doctor, after all. He was halfway decent at healing the problems on the inside as well as the outside.

In other people anyways.

"Go get your shower." He shoved Isaac gently towards the door. "I’ve decided to just hang out here." They were done triaging outside, everyone had been assigned a color. Green for okayish, yellow for ‘Meh they’ll survive a little while with some pain killers and a band aid’, red for "FIX ME NOW", and black for "Too far gone, abort mission". 

"You going to be okay?" Isaac stopped, looking at Stiles with something akin to worry, "He loves you, but you love him back, don’t you?"

Stiles only hesitated for second before he nodded, “I haven’t said it yet.” He admitted, “I… have a hard time with that. But he knows.” He thinks. “He knows I do.”

Isaac nodded, giving Stiles’ wrist a squeeze, much like Scott had, before leaving for the showering tent.

Being left alone with nothing but his thoughts was probably the worst idea Stiles had had to date. He should be in the O.R. helping put Derek back together. But Derek had been right in his call. Stiles couldn’t operate on Derek; not in the real world and not here. And he couldn’t operate on anyone else while he was so worried about Derek he could swear he was going to vibrate right out of his scrubs.

He was stuck pacing the tent, back and forth, back and forth, until he was sure there was going to be a permanent indent on the floor from his feet.

For years to come it would be noted as a monument to the war, a plaque would be erected. It would read, “ _To commemorate the day Captain Stiles Stilinski; MASH 0139 had a nervous break down”._ Or something.

After the pacing came the moping, where he dropped into Derek’s desk chair and used his arms across the desk as a pillow while he stared morosely at the pictures on the wall; Derek’s sisters, a buff black guy in Navy Blues, one of the whole outfit, Lydia and Allison standing next to a passed out Scott with a variety of colorful pictures drawn on his face in marker… but the one in the middle was Stiles’ favorite. It was him, sitting up on a horse on the day Derek had taught him how to ride; the sun was setting in the picture, casting everything in shades of gold and pink, and he was laughing at something Derek had said. Something dirty if he remembered correctly (he did).

It had been a good day.

One of the best, since that was the day that Derek pressed Stiles up against the side of the makeshift stable and kissed him for the first time.

Then was the fresh wave of panic, where he shook so badly he wondered idly if it counted as a work out and bit his nails down to the quick. Where his heart beat so fast it actually hurt and he couldn’t catch his breath.

And then, thankfully, Scott peeked into the office, bloody and tired, roughly seven hours after Isaac had left to shower -and then avoided the office like he knew Stiles needed the alone time as much as he hated it.

The blood made Stiles stomach clench; there was a  _lot_ on Scott’s scrubs. “What?” was all he could manage.

Then Scott finally,  _finally,_ smiled and all of Stiles’ muscles relaxed so suddenly he almost slid out of the chair. “He’s fine.” 

"Fine?" Stiles repeated, barely daring to believe it. "Like, how fine is fine?"

"He should be awake in about an hour."

It was actually an hour and twenty three minutes, not like Stiles was counting or anything. And if anyone thought it was strange that Stiles planted his ass next to Derek’s bed and didn’t move for the entire hour and twenty three minutes… well, they didn’t dare voice their thoughts in his general vicinity.

Which was great because he was  _not_ in the mood for that today. 

He let his forehead rest against his and Derek’s clasped hands while he counted Derek’s breaths. He hadn’t had the guts to look at Derek’s chart yet, didn’t think he could handle knowing the full extent of the damage that took Scott seven hours to repair. 

When Derek’s breathing hitched Stiles’ head shot up and his muscles tensed, ready to jump into Dr. Mode and prove that he could handle working on Derek, but then he saw Derek’s eyes; only half open, but clear as hazel crystals, and relaxed.

"Hi." He whispered.

"Hi." Derek said back.

"I don’t know whether to kiss you or kick your ass." Stiles admitted, loud enough for anyone in the immediate vicinity to hear.

"The kissing sounds a little less violent." Derek said back, trying to be just as loud.

And Stiles started to laugh, rising from his chair to lean over and kiss Derek right on the mouth. Because now, now it would be viewed as a joke between two really good friends instead of what it really was.

And that was exactly what they needed and Derek thanked everything every single day that Stiles could think like that, could come up with ways for them to live and not have their cover blown. Could kiss Derek after being scared half to death, in the middle of a crowded med-tent and not be court marshaled and transferred. 

As Stiles pulled back he sighed, keeping his lips spread into a grin to keep up the ruse of the joke, but ducking his head to hide the tears clinging to his eyelashes. 

Derek wanted to reach up to wipe them away.

His hand stayed at his side.

"Hey dad," Stiles picked up later, curled against Derek in his tent after he pulled rank to get himself moved, and Stiles volunteered to keep watch over him, "sorry about that. We had a minor emergency." Derek chuckled into Stiles’ neck, wincing as his stitches pulled. Stiles smoothed a hand over his side. "Colonel Hale, you know, the one I’ve been telling you about? He got hurt today." Stiles swallowed hard, "Really bad, actually. It took Scott seven hours to patch him up. And I think I finally understand how you felt spending all those nights at the hospital when I was a kid." When Stiles’ mom had died, "I thought I did then, but I was wrong." Derek’s hand was trailing up and down Stiles’ back, fingers playing over the knobs of his spine. 

"And I think I finally know what it means to be terrified. You’d think that being surrounding by flat out war would do that, but it really doesn’t hold a candle to seeing someone you…. someone important to you laid out on a gurney and bleeding. If there was ever a surefire way to realize how much you care about someone it is definitely the glaring thought that you may lose them before you get to tell them." 

Derek made a choked noise against Stiles’ skin. “I can’t say the word.” Stiles was speaking more to Derek than to his dad now and they both knew it, “But I know how he takes his coffee. And I know that he’ll tell people his favorite color is blue when it’s actually gold. And that his eyebrow twitches when he lies.” 

"It does not." Derek grumbled.

"I just felt it!" Stiles shot back, laughing as Derek scrapped his stubble across Stiles’ skin in retaliation, "Anyways, dad. I just wanted you to know that I’m doing alright. I miss you like crazy, but I found a couple of people that make me feel not so alone. One of them, his name is Isaac, he’s a baby and it’s like having a little brother and golden retriever puppy all at the same time. And uh, he’s from California and I have a pretty good idea that his dad wasn’t the type to work things out with words, if you get my drift. So if you know a friend who knows a friend who happens to know the father of Isaac Lahey - that;s L A H E Y -… that would be awfully fortuitous."

"You’re such a good friend." Derek sighed into Stiles’ shoulder, the painkillers about ready to put him to sleep again.

"I try." Stiles said back. "Anyways, dad. I’m gonna add more to this tape, there’s still a few hours worth of time on it, and it’s not going to all be this heavy. Today was just kind of a heavy day…" He paused, added a quick, "Love you!" and shut off the recorder. 

Stiles let himself be manhandled (he didn’t really have much of a choice, Derek’s stitches were less than twelve hours old, they had to be  _careful)_ until he was laying down, not pillowed across Derek like he normally was -chest wounds were such a pain - but still close, their legs tangled together, Derek’s head turned so they breathed the same air even while he was on his back, their fingers entwined tightly.

"I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say it before. The word." Derek mumbled as his eyes started to close.

"I don’t say it. Ever. Normally I just… tell him something I know about him that shows I care. His coffee order, his favorite quote, his favorite T.V. show…"

"But today was a heavy day." Derek said.

"Today was a heavy day." Stiles agreed, "I’m sorry." He continued after a moment, "I can’t say it yet. Not to you, not in this sense… I just…"

"It’s okay." Derek assured him, giving his fingers a squeeze. "Tell me something you know."

Stiles’ lips quirked into a smile and he leant down to press his lips against the darkly tanned skin of Derek’s shoulder, thinking of the dark ink between his shoulder blades. “The sun, the moon, the truth.” 

It even rhymed with  _I love you_.


End file.
